350 THE LAY OF THE DAW. O'er Barn and Grange his squadrons range; But of all the Birds by land or sea,' The Raven hates, the Eagle scorns, And, if the Grove or Grange decays, He cares, not he, how grim it be, And, of all the Birds I ever see, The faithful friendly Daw for me. His banner where the Baron raised, Where Minstrel harps the Champion praised, "Tis a regular law with the jocular Daw, To set up his Hostel there; And he builds and dwells above Bowers and Cells, And of all the Birds that builders be, The buoyant, heartsome Daw for me. For, when the last sad day arrives Though all be gone, the Daw survives, To animate the Gloom! No drear Decay scares him away, Though Knights and Monks be sped; O! then, of every Bird, for glee, T. H. W. THE LOST TERRIER. 351 The famous Crucifixion' of Vandyke adorns with mouldering splendour a transept of the Minster. It deserves a better fate. Oh that the gallery of King Ludwig had it. The Church of Saint John's with its glorious Altar-piece embellished by five paintings of Rubens, we were prevented visiting by the following incident: I was absorbed in contemplation, lamenting the ravages which time, damp, and neglect had inflicted, and realizing the truth of Sir Joshua's remarks on the fine Chiaro-scuro of the Bad Thief, when on a sudden it was discovered that the little terrier bitch was no where extant in the church! Mist was missing! In an instant we all exchanged the dilettante air of Tourist amateurs into amazement and dismay. No sooner had the Lacquey de place heard in distracted accents, "The dog's lost!" than, without a word, away he darted from the Cathedral, while, after a few idiotical interjections, Christina and the Courier unceremoniously followed his example, without so much as a syllable, look, or thought for my disconsolate self. I remained mute, motionless, utterly bewildered. Methought "The Shrines all trembled and the Lamps grew pale:" till I was awakened from my trance by a sound like thunder, which was, I well knew, produced by 352 THE PRISONER OF THE CHURCH. the closing of the Great Western gates of the Cathedral! Starting at once from my trance, I rushed in that direction, and reached them just in time to find them inexorably barred and locked, and to hear their Iron Diapason taken up by the minor echoes of every other portal and postern in the mighty Dom. Here was a pretty business! there was not an atom of uncertainty, not a glimmer of hope. I was indisputably locked in, Mist lost, and her master, who should have sought her from the Cape to the Andes, a detenu of the Church. Yes! as close a prisoner as if, like Pope's Eurydice, "Fate had fast bound me With Styx nine times round me." Here, however, my Orpheus was the Sacristan who not only led me to a little lurking postern, but could hardly conceal his satisfaction, as he opened it for my departure. Doubtless the man suspected me of some sinister design upon the Saints of Saint Rombauds. Alas! I resembled that Captive of half a century in the Bastille, who, when, by a tardy and useless act of mercy, emancipated from his dungeon, knew not whither to turn! I stood under the great tower (while all its Carillons of the most delicious melody, varying every five minutes, warbled over my head,)-whistling! Yes! insanely whistling for the Lost one." At this Crisis I discovered The Forlorn Hope advancing under the trees. It seems that after a wild and random excursion hither and thither, they thought they might as well begin to look for the other Dog-and a sad dog indeed they found him! Next appeared the Lacquey black in the face with running from Church to Chapel, and from street to square, calling aloud for "Mist." Since Eneas lost Creusa, never was there such a coil. I shouted, Christina screamed, we had a mob of passengers, boys and women, stopping to gaze upon us as we stood under the leafless groves of the Cathedral Close, marvelling at the various noises we were making, whose purport was as unintelligible as their tongue was unknown, "Pueri et pavidæ longo ordine Matres Ausus quin etiam voces jactare per umbram Nequidquam ingeminans iterumq. iterumq. vocavi." Again the Lacquey departed on his search, and, when he left us, he left the most unmeaning Trio that ever stood still on a street without Singing. Suddenly a thought struck us!-we would take different ways, and the Dom Kirch should be our rendezvous! To this there was but one objection; -not one of us knew where to put one foot before another in the magnificent labyrinths of this City of Lace and Gingerbread. At length we trusted A A 354 PERPLEXITY. to our good Genius, and parted,-Christina and I to retrace every step of the streets we had already trodden to the station house, and William to roam the gigantic Aisles of the Cathedral, (like a Ghost out of spirits,) in search of the wanderer. With the most bewildered looks, faltering accents, and unutterable French, we accosted the decent Sabbath-clad citizens, demanding "The yellow Dog!" Some professed they had not seen him, some protested they had: and accordingly, like chaff blown hither and thither by the gusts of Autumn, did we, in the mud of Autumn, tramp hither and thither through the streets of Malines. For my own part, I can count every door of her houses, and oh, how feelingly remember every stone of her pavement. All was in vain! we were perplexed, but not baffled, desponding, not desperate, "Pale but intrepid, sad, but unsubdued." It was now that we resolved to summon the Town Crier. Our citation was obeyed. He came, that Municipal Herald, that Man of Age, that Peripatetic Voice: he was an old military pensioner. I know not what Eldorado we opened to his expectations; I forget the precise mine of Mexico or Peru which was to remunerate his success. At all events "We vow'd, we swore, and he believed us :" |